When the World Falls in Love
by sarapals with past50
Summary: It's Christmas time in Vegas! It's that time of year when the world falls in love! Except for those who work in the crime lab! Sara and Grissom, Nick, Brass, and Greg show up as well as Betty Grissom! Start out with "T" rating and probably go up to "M".
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: A Christmas story-thanks to Harry Connick, Jr., for the title! Thanks to readers who review and encouraged us to write a Christmas fic! _

_We own nothing. CSI belongs to others; we're just playing with the characters. _

**When the World Falls In Love: A Christmas Story**

**Chapter 1**

Nick Stokes heard the kid as background noise along with police and paramedics radios, the television in the apartment, the neighbors gathered to check out what was happening. He stepped over an arm as he edged through the doorway and around the body blocking the door, being careful not to disturb it.

The kid in the hallway moaned for the third time, "I should have walked away." A woman on the TV was crying.

Nick looked around, found the remote, and silenced the television. Someone would have to talk to the boy at some point. Taking a minute to look around, he studied the woman on the floor—expensive black dress with a beaded bodice, a silky scarf twisted around her neck, silver heels on her feet, and a professional looking gag tied around her mouth. At one time Nick would not have believed gags were actually made for a purpose; this one was about the size of a golf ball and fitted around her head with leather straps.

The kid had been the one to notice the red painted fingernails at the edge of the open door. Nick could see part of the dead woman's face—a startled, terrified expression.

"Did you disturb anything?" He asked the two paramedics.

Both scoffed. "We're old hands, Nick. Minute we saw this dude we knew he was dead!" One said, "We've been waiting on you."

Nick turned back to the body. "That's a dude?"

The paramedic pointed to his groin. "Checked vitals. That ain't no lady!"

"Can we leave now?" The other one asked. "We got calls coming in every few minutes—we get there and half the time it's some old guy choking on his steak!"

Nick waved them on their way; thirty minutes into Christmas Eve and events were already occurring that would keep him busy the rest of his shift.

The boy in the hallway claimed to know nothing about the man dressed as a woman. "I only saw the fingernails when I passed the door—knew that wasn't right!" He claimed. "I called you guys!"

"You don't know this guy? Never seen him or her before?" Nick asked the young man.

"I only know Mr. Owens lives there. I don't know anything about a man dressing up as a woman. I don't know anything about that kind of stuff."

Nick's eyes took in the young man, well dressed, neat hair, clean nails, and moved aside, saying, "Come in here—careful—don't touch anything. Take a look—see if it is Mr. Owens."

The kid, appearing much younger than his stated twenty-one years, squinted and took a look. "It is him! It really is—I swear, I had no idea he was doing this." He looked at Nick. "You think someone killed him? Or did he just croak?"

"We don't know yet, but we'll find out," Nick said as he guided the boy into the hall.

Nick heard the detective say "You'll need to make a statement." The detective poked his head around the door. "Some way to spend Christmas Eve, huh?"

_Across town_, Christmas Eve came quietly to the woman sleeping in the middle of a king-size bed. The dog that stretched across the bed did not disturb her. But even in sleep, Sara Sidle's face showed concern with a slight frown across her forehead and her hands folded into fists. She would not remember her dreams when she woke.

When her alarm went off, she managed a left-handed jab that quickly silenced it and settled back into a dreamy cocoon between sleep and wakefulness. When it beeped a second time, she rolled over and got up. The dog followed her. The holiday schedule ran twenty-four hours on and twenty-four off but she and Nick had their own arrangement—she came in a few hours late and he would leave a few hours early.

She went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, pulled her hair back and spent all of fifteen seconds applying gloss to her lips. Another ten minutes and she was fully dressed and pouring orange juice into a glass. She turned on the small television in the kitchen and watched with sound muted as mudslides halfway around the world covered small houses.

As she ate a banana, she thought about last Christmas. A year ago, she had been in South America with her husband celebrating Christmas and the new year in four different countries—following the sun, Grissom had announced with a laugh—as they traveled to Peru, Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay. Three weeks of unadulterated heaven, she remembered. She heaved a loud sigh and poured dog kibble into Hank's bowl.

This Christmas would be different; she pulled a yellow legal pad out and wrote a short note. Quickly, she went to the tall Christmas tree and clipped the note to an ornament and then backed away to see if it was prominently displayed—easily seen. Satisfied, she smiled. It took all her will-power to leave it on the tree as she glanced at the closed door of the bedroom. Her secret wish for the day was to stay in bed, but she did not complain when the posted schedule put her with Nick for the holiday.

Her mother-in-law had been delighted to plan a late meal for Christmas day; Sara had halfheartedly agreed to the plans knowing Betty Grissom would put together a grand dinner, inviting many of her friends while conveniently forgetting that Sara was vegetarian. Sara wished she could get out of it—the dinner—but she knew she'd go. And wear a dress.

She turned on the Christmas lights because it was Christmas Eve—early, but the day had officially begun. As quietly as possible, she left the house. With crime in Vegas at an all-time high, she knew it would be at least twenty-four hours before she returned to this place, returned to this quiet refuge of peace she had chosen to be home. Driving along quiet streets where it seemed everyone was still asleep, she was always startled when she entered a major thoroughfare and found it jammed with cabs, buses, and rental cars. She knew the Strip was busy with tourists—and in the quiet places and in the celebrations, she would be busy with wrongdoings, some pitifully minor and others dreadfully life-altering.

A/N: _You've read the first chapter-we appreciate hearing from you! A promise-the more reviews = another chapter! Thanks so much!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: And Chapter 2! Enjoy!_

**When the World Falls In Love**

**Chapter 2**

Sara pulled into the surface parking lot; at least half of the employees were already on holiday leave so she did not bother with the parking garage. As she walked in, Judy welcomed her with a bright "Merry Christmas, Sara!"

A big Christmas tree had been up since Thanksgiving; until recently, toys had been stacked around the tree's base.

"You, too, Judy. The tree looks a little bare without gifts."

"Oh, they were picked up yesterday—we had over three hundred packages going out!"

Sara nodded and kept walking. Talking with Judy could take hours and she wanted to find out what kind of assignments had come in.

When she found the swing shift supervisor, he had his eyes glued to a microscope. Sensing her arrival, he held up one finger and finished what he was doing before raising his head.

"Hey, Sara. Glad you made it. Nick's out with a dead body—he believes it may be asphyxiation—maybe self-inflicted." The supervisor waved for her to follow him. "We've got a suspicious accident on Boulder Highway. Deputies called for an investigator five minutes ago."

"I'm on it," she took the assignment slip and headed for the locker room for her kit, studying the paper as she walked. Certain she knew the location—several curves with guard rails along that section—and very near the place where Jim Brass and Nick had found Warrick's killer.

She checked her kit, stuffed energy bars and water into a bag, and headed back to her vehicle. In thirty minutes, she was pulling to a stop beside two patrol cars, a fire truck, an ambulance, and a tow truck. Quickly, she learned the situation.

A man, the driver of the wrecked vehicle, sat in the back of the ambulance receiving aid. His smoldering car was near the bottom of a steep ravine.

"The wife's in the car—she didn't survive. One of the paramedics went down but didn't touch anything." The young deputy went into great detail explaining the harness and rappelling ropes.

Finally, Sara broke in. "What do you think happened?"

The deputy shook his head. "The man doesn't have many injuries. The fire guys think the blaze was too much for this kind of car—even with a full tank of gas." He walked over to the edge of the highway and pointed his flashlight to something about ten feet below the surface road. "We haven't touched it—his hat. Noticed it when we got here and the husband on was that ledge." He waved his light to a small rocky outcrop below the hat. "That's where we found him."

Sara smiled. "Good call." She started taking photographs.

Forty-five minutes later, she was poking among the wreckage of a burned out car when she discovered a melted plastic container. Carefully picking it up, she sniffed. "Gasoline," she murmured into the night air.

Hearing a commotion above her head, she looked up. Two more people were joining her in the ravine.

"Hey, Sara," Dave Phillips called. "Sorry to be so late—had Nick's body before we got this one."

"That's okay," she replied, watching as a second man started the descent. "Who came with you?" She reached to give Dave a hand to steady himself.

"Greg—something about his flight so he came in to help out." Dave got to work unrolling a large black bag.

Sara waited for Greg. "What are you doing here? Thought you had big plans for out-of-town!"

He shrugged and laughed. "Flight was overbooked so I took cash and a ticket for another trip! And what could be better than spending Christmas with you?"

"Betty's—not my place! Four o'clock tomorrow. She'll have plenty to eat and be thrilled to see you." She pointed to the car. "And I'll bet you a bottle of cheap wine that we have a murder. Gasoline in the trunk, husband has a few abrasions, the wife is dead—crispy. He claims the brakes didn't work, he went through the guard rail, thrown clear as the car rolled."

Greg walked around the car. "We've heard that story before. Need help, Dave?"

The three worked in silence as they removed the body and once Dave and the body had been pulled to the road, Sara and Greg returned to photographing and collecting. The husband, refusing transport to the hospital, had an odd outburst of temper demanding his wife's purse be found and returned to him. Sara and Greg let the deputies handle him—and put the fire-damaged bag into an evidence envelope.

As the sun came up, they stopped to watch as the sky turned from pale gray to the pink, orange and red of a desert sunrise. A flock of crows lifted from a grove of trees and stirred the quiet with their loud, indignant cries.

As they paused, Sara handed Greg an energy bar and a bottle of water. "Best I can do under the circumstances," she laughed. They sat on adjoining rocks and had what passed for breakfast.

"So, what's the old guy getting you for Christmas," Greg asked, his voice teasing and playful. Last year, weeks after Christmas, she had worn a delicate, exquisite necklace, unusual and beautiful, and, after some teasing, she said it was Grissom's Christmas gift.

Sara grinned, rolling up her trash into a tight ball. "Don't know—he's being very secretive. Won't let me in the second bedroom!" She cut her eyes in Greg's direction, paused a few second before continuing with a laugh. "He didn't even wake up when I left this morning—not that unusual, but he had tape across the door this morning! Like I might sneak a look in the room!"

Greg snickered. "Crime scene tape?" He grinned. The season or the location made him bold. "The honeymoon must be over if he won't get up to see you off—fix your breakfast!"

Laughing, Sara got up. "He's a day-time person now—loves being outside in the sun. Let's get to work and see if we can find something to nail this guy—he might celebrate Christmas but I think he's going to be sitting in the county jail by New Year's Day!"

After they released the scene, the tow truck pulled the wreckage to the highway. They knew the driver would be interviewed, the car would have to be checked for brake and engine failure, the seat belts for tampering, but they and the deputies had strong suspicions the accident and fire had been a well-planned event.

Sara and Greg stood on the pavement while highway workers worked on a temporary fix to the guardrail.

"We need to go," Greg said. He sighed. "You know this is almost the place…"

"Yeah, just a few hundred yards—Nick and Brass caught McKean," Sara whispered. Shaking her head, she added, "It all seems like a bad dream, doesn't it."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yeah, she's doing okay. Her house is clean now—she's looking for a job. Her parents are taking Eli to Disney World for Christmas." The sound she made came out as a long sigh but something caused her breath to catch. She turned her face to the sun.

Greg watched, suddenly aware that something else had happened as a range of emotions crossed Sara's face. Astonishment at his realization caused his mouth to open and close; he couldn't say what had caused the thought to cross his mind, but Sara was grieving—not for Warrick—but for something else—something she had kept well-hidden until this moment.

_A/N: Thank you for reading-we promise mostly fluff! And another chapter soon-reviews appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Enjoy!_

**When the World Falls In Love**

**Chapter 3**

Their work went much faster than usual because there were few interruptions; Nick was working on his dead body until a 'smash and grab' sent him to a small pawn shop. A few others in the lab were working on the cases that needed quick resolution or 'hold over' evidence from previous shifts. Sara and Greg worked together so well they did not have to talk as evidence stacked up against the husband. By six o'clock on Christmas Eve he had confessed to planning the death of his wife to Detective Moreno.

After the detective related the confession to Sara and Greg, he said, "That didn't work out as planned—he wanted her life insurance."

"It rarely does," Sara said softly and turned back to the evidence spread across the table.

Before Moreno could turn away, Nick appeared carrying several paper bags and boxes. "Eat!" He said as he held up the boxes. "Chinese food and French pastries!" He managed a shoulder roll. "The break room is ours!"

Everyone in the lab, plus a number of officers, gathered around pushed together tables and ate Nick's food. In a few hours they would go in different directions—a few to the airport to catch last minute flights, others to homes where families were waiting, and some to sleep in a quiet bed.

Greg noticed Sara said little; she participated in the conversations, she ate, but she said nothing about her own plans.

"So, Sara," he leaned toward her ear, "what are your plans? Eating with Mama Grissom—but that's a crowd!" Teasing, exaggerating his words, he asked, "What do you have planned with the hubby?"

For the first time in hours, her face brightened as a true smile spread across her face. "That is something I'll never tell you, Greg! Some things are best kept private—but if you must know, it involves a book." She giggled and the sound caused everyone to turn in her direction.

Greg pulled a mocking shock. "A book! You and Grissom and a book!"

Twittering, nervous laughter came from the group as Sara suppressed a smile. "A book—a very serious and rare book for all your perverted minds!" She launched into an explanation of her search for a scientific book no one had ever heard of before today and did not have to talk but a minute.

"That's what your husband wanted?" One of the young lab techs asked. "No new wireless gadgets?" She laughed, "That's all my boyfriend talks about!"

Nick left soon afterwards. Sara headed to the Strip where a group of pickpockets and shoplifters had worked their way through a jewelry store, an electronics store and a high-end leather shop. She processed dozens of fingerprints while a young policeman asked questions and took statements from nervous employees.

Around midnight, she returned to the lab, found a quiet place, and checked her messages. She smiled as she read four text messages and sent one reply. Seconds later, her phone rang with a special ring tone.

"Hello, dear, Merry Christmas," Grissom's voice filled her ear with sudden warmth.

Sara leaned back into her chair. "Merry Christmas, Gil."

"How are things going?" He asked and for several minutes she talked about what had happened with the case and how it wrapped up so quickly.

"And your day has been?"

"Good!" He paused, then asked, "Will I see you soon?"

"Soon—I'll be home soon."

She heard a soft laugh. "I'll be awake," he said. "I think—call me and I'll have your bath ready."

"Okay—thanks. That sounds nice."

A short time later, Morgan stuck her head in the door, wanting to know what was happening. The entire lab seemed to be in a dream-state "waiting for Santa Claus to arrive" Morgan suggested.

On the way home, Sara stopped to purchase four freshly baked sticky buns at a diner known to have a good baker. She was always surprised to find people standing in line, even at one in the morning.

When she walked into her home, her husband was waiting, dressed in a very soft blue sweater, one of her favorites, his old jeans, and smelling faintly of woodsy scented cologne. Her brain registered the lighted tree, flickering candles, an open bottle of wine, a baguette, and a salad, but her eyes saw only her husband's smile.

Before she could place her box on the counter, his fingertips touched her face, holding her head gently between his palms. Just before he kissed her, he whispered, "I've missed you." He laced his fingers through her hair and bent to kiss her neck, a light necklace of kisses.

Sara wrapped her arms around him, relaxing against his chest, listening to the regular, reassuring sound of his heart.

"Take your clothes off."

"Right here?"

He laughed. "No—well, you can. But your bath is ready."

She grinned and took his hand. "Come with me," she said and he followed her.

Talking as she undressed, pulling her shirt over her head, dropping her pants to the floor, sliding her panties off with both hands, Grissom watched, fully aware of the growing heat in his groin. When she reached behind her back, undid her bra, and pulled it off, he left his place and reached for her.

She laughed as she pushed him back to the stool. "Wait!" A giggle erupted from lips he wanted to kiss. "I get a bath first!" She bent over, put her mouth on his and, as his tongue slid across her lips; she did the same to him and then nipped his lip with her teeth.

He watched, flames of passion rippling through his body, as Sara stepped into the tub. He would not rush this ritual she enjoyed; instead, he dipped a bath sponge into the tub and handed it to her. They did not talk—a soft symphony played in the background as Sara stretched in the tub, submerging completely for a few seconds before bringing her face to the surface. She did this several times before leaning her head back, eyes closed, a smile on her face. Grissom was delighted to watch as his wife's body blushed pink in the bubble bath—one of the few luxuries she enjoyed. They both knew how this would end; she leaned forward and handed him the sponge. He took his time stroking her back, lifting her hair and holding it as he squeezed water out of the sponge. Leaning over, he kissed her shoulder, watching as water ran down her neck to her chest and made little waterfalls cascading over her nipples.

A slight shift of her body, and he reached for a towel. "Let me," he whispered. Wrapping her in a white towel, he asked, "It's Christmas—do you want to open gifts?"

Her response was a guilty, arousing laugh, one no one else ever heard; her hands went to his pants. "Does this one have a ribbon?"

With that comment, they hurried through the mechanics of removing his clothes and by the time they were on the bed, both were laughing and naked. When her breasts touched his bare chest, he came close to losing control and taking a deep breath, he held her tightly for a time, then put his hands on her butt, tightened his grip, and pushed her hips against his.

The deep arcing motions of her pelvis communicated her need, her urgency. She welcomed his weight on top of her, and even when she wanted him, protested when his maneuvering, repositioning, fondling could not improve what she was feeling, he did not listen. Finally, their bodies reached the point of any movement sending them over the edge.

"Don't move," he said, but even his voice was too erotic, and Sara moved bringing his final thrusts as she dissolved into luxuriant ecstasy, the long ripples of pleasure building to a tsunami of bliss.

She felt his body move, muscles quivering underneath her hands, as he came, strong, powerful, filling her; she squeezed the walls of her vagina until the small contractions gave her another fluttering climax.

Sara was not a vocal lover, but her sighs and tiny moans seemed to recharge her husband, inspired him to do the things that she enjoyed—that he enjoyed doing to her. Loving, gentle hands and lips roamed bare skin. He told her he loved her body, she said she loved the way he touched her. There was more that could have been said and done, but finally they fell into an exhausted, contented sleep.

_A/N: Thank you-especially to those who send us a message of appreciation for what we write! And after today, all of us need more love today. An excellent message from Mr. Rogers: Remember the helpers not the hurt. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Enjoy! _

**When the World Falls In Love**

**Chapter 4**

They woke, finally, when Hank managed to open the bedroom door and make a plaintive whine on Grissom's side of the bed. Before her husband could move, Sara reached down and let her hand caress him. She moaned—mixing a teasing laugh with passion.

"I thought you were worn out," she said with a giggle.

Grissom shifted, saying, "Woman, you will be the death of me yet!" He reached around and patted her butt. "It's Christmas day," he laughed. "Gifts await—my mother waits! And you—my dear horny wife who would rather remain in bed all day—agreed to help with dinner." He pointed to the clock. "And it's almost noon!"

Sara groaned, "Why did I do that?" She rolled out of bed, shivered, and reached for Grissom's discarded shirt. "I'll fix breakfast if you'll walk Hank."

Grissom found his pants. "We never ate what I put out last night!"

They both walked the dog and returned to eat the sticky buns Sara had brought in.

"Gifts!" Grissom said, pointing to the tree. "My name's on two—and you have one under the tree." He was a gleeful as an eight-year old waiting for a visit from Santa.

His excitement caused Sara's curiosity to return. "What have you been hiding in the bedroom all week?" Grissom knew what his gifts were—he had been very specific about his wishes—there was one surprise gift, requested early one morning,

that would cause much amusement for both. But it would come much later.

He kissed her, tasting of sugar and cinnamon. "I have a surprise for you!" His eyes gleamed with excitement; his feet literally seemed to dance across the floor.

Their tree was a tall, slender live tree, purchased with root ball attached so it could be planted on the campus of Gilbert College for the Deaf. Sara had decorated it more with lights than ornaments but each decoration—mementos rather than holiday ornaments—held a special meaning for them—one from every country they had visited as a couple, a small porcelain bee, a model of a car, a feather, several shells, and other 'found' souvenirs.

Sitting on the floor, Grissom unwrapped his gift and was genuinely surprised Sara had been able to find the old book he wanted. Sara's gift was an elegant woven gold chain with a solitary pearl dropped at its center. His second gift was an old print of a beautifully colored beetle.

"And you have one more," Grissom whispered as he fastened the necklace around her neck. The pearl dropped to rest at the cleft of her breasts and he leaned forward and kissed her flesh above the smooth gem. He stood up without speaking and a few minutes later returned from their second bedroom carrying a substantial box which he placed in front of her.

The appearance puzzled Sara even more than his mysterious activities in the bedroom. Not wrapped, the gift was a wooden box, carefully made of narrow pieces of wood fitted together. Each piece was a different color from dark black to a pale cream; the box gleamed, not shiny, but with a hand rubbed finish she had seen on expensive furniture.

Nervously, her mind attempting to process the appearance of the box with her husband's spirited expression, she lifted the top, trying to imagine a jewelry box large enough to hold two pairs of boots. But it was not made to hold jewelry; inside, the deep box contained tissue wrapped objects—things. Puzzled, she looked at Grissom; he was smiling.

"Keep looking," he said softly.

The first item she unwrapped was a thin book—an elementary school yearbook—she recognized the school's name. She opened the cover and began leafing through the book, perhaps thirty pages.

"Page twenty," Grissom said, "you'll find a familiar face." The look on his face was one of sheer satisfaction.

She turned to the page and smiled. A small black and white photo of a little girl, in astonishing clarity, smiled with the same smile Sara saw each time she looked in a mirror. "Where? How?" She was nearly speechless.

"It took a while—lots of searching."

Keeping her finger between the pages, she reached into the box again but had to release the thin book when she lifted a thicker one out of the box. It appeared to be an old black photo album, the kind with little gummed corners holding photographs. Carefully, she opened the cover—and gasped when she saw the photographs on the first page.

"It's my dad," she whispered, shock and surprise registering in her words as her fingers touched a photograph of three young men. She turned the page and recognized her father again—a young man, laughing, his dark eyes so nearly like her own, a cigarette dangling from his mouth—in several of the photos on the page. She turned another page and found a high school football squad list and photo of a group of boys posing formally in their uniforms.

"Where did you find this?" She asked as she turned another page.

"It took nearly a year," Grissom said, "and a lot of help." His arm went around her shoulders as her voice trembled.

Tears pricked her eyes as she recognized her mother, young, slim, looking goofy, and holding up one finger, in a photograph. A ring was on her finger. The next page was filled with colored photographs, slightly faded, of a group of serious looking young men all wearing white coats and dark pants. Sara realized it was photographs taken at a prom or a wedding. Her fingers covered her mouth as a sudden sorrow settled on her, tears fell onto her cheeks. She had no memory of her parents as the young, happy people, barely older than teenagers, in each picture.

There was one small photograph of her mother and father, a young bride and groom, standing beside an old car.

The last page had several photographs of people she did not know, but one was of a small child, a little dark-haired girl, standing between a man and a woman. All three stood in front of a Volkswagen with a beach in the background. Another picture showed a large group of people she did not know or remember gathered around an old picnic table.

Grissom pointed to a small face in the crowd. "That's you."

"I think I remember this," Sara said. Pointing to unseen feet, she said, "My sandals were red."

She looked at Grissom. "How did you find these?"

"Keep looking and I'll tell you."

She pulled out two framed photographs—the only one she had of her parents in a new frame and a recent photograph of a house. "We lived here when I was in elementary school," she said. Her fingers went to her lips. "This was before we moved…" She stopped talking when her voice caught in a quiet breath.

Lifting another tissue wrapped package, she peeled back the paper to find another yearbook. She grinned. "My senior year," quietly, she laughed, "I never had one."

"Page forty—the class valedictorian—a beautiful girl," he said as he flipped pages to find a formal photograph of his wife as a very young woman looking directly at the camera with a serious expression.

A quiet laugh came from Sara, "I don't even remember looking like that."

After turning pages in the yearbook, looking at faces of classmates she had almost forgotten, she picked up the black book again.

"Keep looking—one more," Grissom said.

The last book was new—one of those colorful photo books sold in hobby and craft stores—and about an inch thick. Almost overwhelmed by what she had found in the others, she opened the cover and smiled.

"Who?" She asked, running her fingers over the photograph—one that had been taken the first time she and Grissom had met. "How did you do this?" She kept her fingers on the photo and lifted her eyes to his.

"I had a lot of help," he said. "Your mother—my mother put this last one together. She—your mom—remembered several names and I contacted those people. That's where the black one came from—one of your dad's old friends kept those photographs—and his wife had the book sitting in a bookcase. Said it would mean more to you than anyone they knew."

Sara kept looking at the books, opening one and then another, leaving each one open as she moved to another, studying images of her forgotten life, seeing her parents as young people.

Grissom continued, "I placed an ad in the local newspaper where you grew up and found someone who had the school yearbooks, willing to part with them." Softly, he laughed. "Everyone I talked with wanted to help!"

Sara wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. She couldn't explain why the old photographs should be so reassuring, so comforting.

Grissom kissed her, gently brushing his lips against her shoulder. He said, "Once I started searching and found the first book—your senior yearbook and found your photograph—I knew I had to keep looking." He took her hand in his and smiled, one of thoughtful understanding, saying, "I know, Sara, I've known for years how—how you feel at Christmas—when everyone starts talking about family." He kissed her hand. "I wanted to give you an anchor to your past—a history, I guess. Something visual."

She did not say a word, but leaned against him. Her hands left the books filled with old photographs and touched him. For a long while, she could not say anything. "This is incredibly sweet, Gil. I've always thought—I guess I thought nothing could be left of that time—everything would have been wiped away." She sniffed but did not attempt to wipe her tears.

"Honey, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

She pushed away, smiling. "I'm happy—I really am. I can not imagine how you got anything from my mother—especially names of anyone. I don't know how you found anyone who knew my father!" She sat up and reached for one of the books. "When my mom—when everything was happening back then, I always felt so alone." She sighed, used both hands to wipe her face, and smiled. "This is so unexpected—to have anything from my childhood."

Grissom hugged her. "Merry Christmas, Sara."

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little sneak peek into Sara and Grissom's Christmas morning-one more chapter to come!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Here's the last chapter! Enjoy! Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!_

**When the World Falls In Love**

**Chapter 5**

Sara and Grissom dressed for Christmas dinner, casually, carefully, because it was expected. Betty Grissom would have a table set for a least a dozen guests, probably more if she thought of anyone who would be alone on Christmas day. With Sara and Grissom contributing to preparations, dinner would be ready before the first person arrived.

Betty enjoyed entertaining; her home was furnished and decorated for that purpose. Leather chairs and colorful sofas were arranged for conversation in small groups. Decorated with wall hangings and large paintings that had come from years of working in an art gallery provided a backdrop to more recent additions. And in unexpected places, she had placed personal mementos and family photos—a colorful drawing by her young son hung over the kitchen sink, a photograph of Sara and Grissom had been placed next to a print of intricate loops. Sara always smiled when she saw the two—photo and print—together, wondering if her mother-in-law realized how clearly the print illustrated their marriage.

Betty Grissom was always happy when her only son appeared at her door. She was warm and gracious to Sara, but it was her son she enjoyed. She admired and nodded enthusiastic approval of Sara's new necklace.

She signed, "Gil's father always knew jewelry was the perfect gift." And thanked them again for the new patio furniture that had been delivered several days before Christmas.

For several hours, Sara and Grissom worked with directions from Betty preparing two salads, a variety of vegetables, macaroni and cheese as well as setting out china and flatware, napkins and glasses.

All-in-all, things had gone smoothly, Sara thought, as Grissom pulled a large roast from the oven. There was enough food to feed a small army—and, according to Betty, at least a dozen guests were coming-and plenty of vegetarian options.

Precisely on time, the door bell rang and three college students were welcomed by Betty. For fifteen minutes, people came through the door. Some brought small gifts, others brought bottles of wine or special foods. Nick and Greg arrived with a huge bouquet of fresh flowers and showed off their budding sign language skills by sharing an elf joke with Betty and the students. The last guest to arrive was Jim Brass—a surprise for Grissom and Sara.

The two men shook hands, slapped each other's back, and acted as if they had seen each other the night before instead of months ago.

Everyone noticed the preparations, the food, the decorations. Candles flickered and glittered, the snowy white tablecloth dazzled and dinnerware sparkled, a blood-red ribbon ran the length of the table displaying Betty's collection of snow globes. The food was an amazing accomplishment; Betty and Sara—two people who had interests that did not include cooking and baking—had performed near-miracles with a variety of recipes.

Betty sat at one end of the table, Grissom at the other. Sara's place was several chairs away from her husband where she could easily converse with Nick and Greg and sign with the young man seated across the table. Her eyes could also see her husband—easily the most handsome man at the table, she thought, as he laughed at something.

The dinner seem to go on forever as half of the guests used sign language and half conversed in conversations that seemed to swell and rise in sensuous waves. Laughter seem to ascend above the table, pop, and wash back over everyone in giddy splashes as stories were explained and jokes retold in words and with signing.

Finally, a few guests gathered energy and strength to depart. Nick mentioned going to work; Greg immediately said:

"And I have a gift for you, Sara."

"No gifts," Sara said. "We promised!"

"You'll like this one. I'm taking your shift tonight." He did a funny head waggle. "It's Christmas—stay home with your old man!"

Minutes later, the two men left balancing plates filled with food in their hands.

Much later, Grissom draped his arms over Sara's shoulders and watched the last of the guests leave. It was an affectionate gesture that changed, discreetly, to a sexual overture as his fingers tickled along the rise of her breasts.

"Hmmm," he said, and nuzzled her neck. "I think its time we go home."

"And leave all of this for your mother to clean up?"

"She'll manage," he whispered, chuckling. "Let me take care of her."

Sara stood, watching, amazed, at how easily and smoothly her husband made some simple explanation—or probably none at all—and, a few minutes later, Betty was happily waving as they left her driveway.

"That was easy," Sara laughed.

Grissom smirked. "I told her we had to go home and have wild, passionate sex!" He pressed his foot to the accelerator and gave her a smug look before grinning.

At home, he propelled her into the bedroom, slowly, kissing the back of her neck, and saying, "I know I have another gift—you promised!"

Sara giggled. "You kept me out of the room while you kept your secrets. I need ten minutes—now you have to—to walk Hank while I get your gift ready."

His eyebrow lifted. His finger pointed to the dog. "Ten minutes, buddy, to do your business and get back!"

In less than ten minutes, Sara took a fast shower, folded back the bedcovers, and spread a very large red stocking over the bed. She unwrapped three small objects, crawled under the stocking, and placed a red and white 'Santa hat' candy on each nipple. The third she placed on Grissom's pillow. Her thoughts caused her to giggle; she knew he would love this.

When she found these in a candy shop, it took her a few minutes to decide how to best use the meringues. She heard Grissom and Hank return. Carefully, she folded her arms behind her head.

He entered the bedroom alone—a treat had satisfied the dog—and abruptly came to a stop. His wife's simple beauty always took his breath—and her naughtiness in sex play always worked a magically miracle. Not a miracle, he thought, but a response, and all he could see above a giant red stocking was her head and arms. His clothes were gone in seconds; then he noticed the colorful piece of candy on his pillow.

"And what is this, dear?"

Sara lifted the top edge of the giant stocking. "A sugar plum," she said in a voice so seductive that he almost exploded from its sound.

His finger reached to touch her nipple. "It looks like I have two."

She smiled. "Then I guess this one is mine."

His lips circled the candy on her left breast. He murmured, "These are perfect." His tongue lifted, curled, and sucked.

Gil Grissom was not musically talented; he could not play an instrument nor could he sing, but he could play Sara as a world-class conductor directing Mozart's Piano Concerto Number Nine. And he did so tonight—in a musical concert, he was muscular and tender, relaxed and confident, careful and gentle, modulating rhythm and tempo, kissing her, drawing her out with sweet determination.

Eventually, the third candy Santa hat found its place, bobbing atop an erect penis as Sara went in its direction.

Passion, pleasure, and ecstasy filled their minds and bodies, finally softened by exhaustion.

The last words Sara heard, her eyelids heavy with sleep, were those whispered by her husband, "Good night, sweet wife. Merry Christmas."

She smiled, so calm, so loosened by sex, so relaxed in her husband's arms that she could not form a response. She snuggled against his warm body and kissed him, knowing no words were needed to express her thoughts, as he pulled her tightly to his chest.

Barely audible, he whispered, "I love you, Sara."

A/N:You can see these Santa Hats by searching for: Haniela's Meringue Santa Hats, recipe and photos! T_his concludes number 59! Merry Christmas, Happy New Year! We appreciate the gift of a review from you!_


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